


you gotta save your soul well / she hates the whole world

by intertwiningwords



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Sonia Kaspbrak, Child Abuse, Factitious Disorder, Gen, Implied Reddie - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Munchausen's, Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, munchausen's by proxy, pre-reddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-12 21:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwiningwords/pseuds/intertwiningwords
Summary: sonia has never been a good cook, but that doesn't explain why her son seems to get sick from it every night.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Sonia Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak & The Losers Club
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	1. kneeling down, my knees caught in the ground

**Author's Note:**

> i chose not to use archive warnings b/c i felt they were too broad, so here are some possible triggers included in this fic!: child abuse, munchausen's by proxy aka factitious disorder, mentions of vomiting, weight gain/loss, and just a lot of general parental abuse that's pretty in line with how sonia treats him in canon.
> 
> title of the fic and chapter titles are all lyrics from the song "gypsy rose lee" by the distillers (anyone who gets the reference let's get married)
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy! i'm already working on chapter two!

Sonia Kaspbrak was  _ not _ a good cook. Her son, Eddie, always noticed that her food left a strange aftertaste on his tongue, and his stomach would be churning all evening. He never mentioned it, for fear of hurting her feelings; his mother was a sensitive woman, with tears pricking the corners of her beady brown eyes more often than not. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her any more pain.

“You’re all that I have left, Eddie,” she would tell him, clutching him to her chest so tightly he thought he might suffocate. “After your father, I can’t lose you too. Promise me that you won’t  _ ever _ leave me.”

“I promise, mommy,” he would tell her, voice soft and a little scared, although he wasn’t quite sure what he was afraid of.

Dinner the night before had been particularly rough, leaving him almost dizzy and tired, until he awoke the next morning and promptly vomited onto the carpet, tears, and snot running down his face as he retched.

His mother was in the doorway within seconds, gasping and rushing to his side, stroking his hair and whispering comfort to him.

Once the vomiting had passed, he tried to get up and go brush his teeth, unable to stand the acidic taste which burned his tongue, but Sonia pushed him back into bed quite forcefully.

“Let me clean this up, and then I’ll take you to the bathroom so you can get cleaned up. You’re too sick to go yourself. You could faint and hit your head on the counter!”

Her words struck panic in him, and he nodded, not daring to open his mouth again for fear that he would puke again.

She returned quickly with cleaning supplies, scrubbing the carpet viciously, the smell of chemicals making Eddie’s head spin.

When she was finished, she helped him to his feet, hands steadying him by the shoulders, and walked him down the hall to their immaculately clean bathroom.

Eddie picked up his toothbrush and squeezed an unnecessary amount of toothpaste on it, desperate to replace the taste that lingered with mint.

“Brush well. You know how sensitive you are to infections, Eddie. If you got gingivitis, you’d probably lose your teeth. I don’t want my sweet boy missing his smile.”

Eddie spat into the sink, saliva stained pink. He’d brushed so forcefully, he’d made his gums bleed. Thankfully, Sonia didn’t notice, too busy staring at the reflection in the mirror: A loving mother and her perfect son.

When Eddie looked too, all he saw was the paleness of his skin and the bloodshot look to his eyes, making him nibble on his lower lip nervously.

“How about you take a nice, hot bath? Maybe it will help break your fever,” his mother suggested.

“Fever?” he replied, voice breaking slightly.

“Yes, fever. Your face is burning hot! I could get the thermometer out if you’d like, but I think it’s got to be at least one hundred—”

Eddie was already heading towards the tub, turning the hot water up all the way.

“Hey, let me draw it for you. Go get yourself a towel from the closet, it’ll be full by the time you get back.”

“B-but what if I faint like you said?”

“I’ll hear you and come running like always,” she assured him, pulling him in to kiss his forehead.

He hesitated before going to grab a towel, inspecting each one to determine which one looked the cleanest before heading back.

The tub was full, and Sonia was kneeling expectantly beside it.

“Thanks, ma,” he said, offering her a wobbly smile.

She didn’t move. “Eddie, dear, you’re not in the state to be in the bath by yourself!”

“I’m too old for you to give me a bath,” he replied, feeling his cheeks flush. He wasn’t a baby. God, if the losers knew about this, they (meaning Richie, mostly) would never let him live it down.

“You’re never too old to let your mom take care of you,” she replied. It should have been a sweet statement, but the way her eyes narrowed and her tone dropped as she said it made Eddie suddenly dizzy again.

Without protesting further, he ducked his head and pulled off his pajamas, and sat in silence as she washed his hair, humming beneath her breath the whole time.

***

“Hello? Oh, hi hun. No, I’m afraid he’s sick. Possibly the stomach flu. I’ll let him know that you called though. Oh, I wouldn’t want you to get sick as well, he’s probably very contagious. You can see him when he’s better. You too, hun. Bye.”

“Who was that on the phone?” Eddie asked, sitting up in bed. He felt better now, despite his empty stomach—the only thing he’d ingested all day was water, unsure he’d be able to hold anything else down.

“No one, sweetie, lay back down.”

Eddie frowned. “It was one of my friends, wasn’t it? Richie?”

Scowling, Sonia nodded.

“Why can’t he come to see me?”

“You’re sick, Eddie! We have no idea what you have, you could be contagious, and you shouldn’t be exposed to more germs if you’re already so ill!”

“But I feel better now,” Eddie insisted. “See?” He stood up from the bed and gave her a nervous smile. He wanted to see his friends. He wanted to see  _ Richie _ .

“Eddie, sweetheart—”

“Mommy, please? I’ve been home for three days straight, can’t I just—?”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Sonia cried, bluntly, stopping his sentence short as she began to sniffle pitifully. “I’m just trying to take care of you, and you  _ hate _ me!”

Taken aback, Eddie’s shoulders slumped and his smile faded. “No, mommy, that’s not true. I don’t hate you.”

“All I do is give, and you give me nothing in return!” she wailed.

Tears welled up in Eddie’s own eyes, helplessness holding him in place as he watched his mother cry, unsure of what to do. He wanted to keep fighting, to tell her that he was fine, and tell her that he didn’t want to stay cooped up in their house all summer, never leaving her side. But he knew that would only make it worse. And, as much as he wanted to hate her for her controlling ways, for her overprotectiveness and constant babying, as much as he wanted to kick and scream and fight...She was his  _ mother _ , and he loved her.

His mother would never hurt him, right?

“I’m sorry, mommy. I didn’t mean to upset you. I can see my friends when I’m better, you’re right. I don’t want to get anyone else sick. How about we go downstairs and listen to the radio together?”

Sonia sniffled, looking up at him with her red, tear-streaked face. “Oh, really? No, I don’t want to force you.”

Eddie forced a smile onto his face. “You’re not forcing me to do anything. I want to.”

“Oh, I love you, Eddie-bear.”

“Love you too, mommy.”


	2. when i love you baby, i mean it more than just the whole world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to the people who left comments on the first chapter and i'm sorry for the wait!! i hope you guys like this chapter xoxo

She had started slowly.

Before Frank passed away, she had been the perfect, doting wife. She brought him his medicine and his food, she helped him walk from the bedroom to the bathroom and back, she washed his pale, paper-thin flesh and told him that she loved him every goddamn day until he died and left her alone with a boy to raise.

And then came the sympathy.

The neighbors bringing over casseroles and cookies, cards and in some cases,  _ checks _ too, and the fact that everyone in town knew she was someone to smile at, because, well, her life had been hard enough the past few months.

Everyone was itching to give Derry’s latest widow an act of kindness, something that was rare in that town, something that only happened in times of tragedy and then disappeared once it was forgotten, and it was always forgotten.

And if they had forgotten, she needed to give them a reason to remember.

Not Frank, no, the man was dead and gone, and although Sonia had loved him, he wasn’t anything special, or worth remembering. She’d keep his pictures up, tell her little boy some stories, but she wasn’t going to dress in black until the day she met him at the pearly gates.

Her plan would certainly keep her from reaching them, anyway.

Eddie was a tiny little thing, since the day he was born, only a week early and yet still so small, and fragile. He had soft skin and chubby cheeks and wisps of brown hair starting to grow on his head, and all Sonia could think was how he was like all things precious: beautiful, yet breakable, too.

He’d been difficult, too, always fussy when it came to feeding, so he was always skinny, and always getting diaper rash or ear infections or other things she hadn’t even thought she needed to prevent.

At first, she had really gotten paranoid, thinking that he was cursed with some disease-prone gene, but the other women in town all gossiped about their kid’s latest colds or broken fingers, and it slowly calmed her to believe that Eddie was just a normal baby, who was weak and sensitive and needed her care.

And then, she began to think.

Oh, he was always such a sickly little thing! Born early, underweight, and a handful too! After his father passed away, I’ve had to raise him all on my own, and his health hasn’t made it easy on me. He has horrible allergies, and he’s asthmatic, too. Always getting colds, and so clumsy too! I’m surprised he hasn’t been in a full-body cast yet, but I take good care of him, see?

Eddie was seven years old when Sonia first slipped a bit of window cleaner into his soup.

He vomited later that evening, and he whimpered and clung to her nightgown for comfort as she rubbed his back and smoothed back his hair, and at that moment, she felt so loved, and so needed, and so  _ fucking _ powerful.

It certainly wouldn’t be the last time.

***

At nine, Eddie was excused from gym class because of his horrific case of asthma, as well as his tendency to bruise, scrape, break, and tear, and Mrs. Kaspbrak simply wouldn’t have her little boy being subjected to such pain for a grade.

“But mama,” Eddie had wailed. “I like gym class! The other boys say I’m fast, I always get picked first—”

“Oh, so they make you run for them, and then what? What if you have an asthma attack, and you can’t get to your inhaler fast enough? Or what if you fall, and snap your leg clean in half? I wouldn’t even be there to help you! You’d be poked and prodded by school nurses, who’d probably make it even worse, half of them aren’t even properly  _ trained _ —”

After she’d finished her rant, Eddie only fell silent and nodded. He didn’t bring up gym class again...Or, at least, until he was eleven.

“Stan says that just because I have asthma doesn’t mean that I can’t play,” he said over dinner one evening.

Sonia’s knuckles turned white as she gripped her fork. “Oh? And who is Stan, hm?”

“My friend, from school. It’s me, Stan, Bill, and Richie. We all have class together.”

“How sweet,” she simpered, her smile twisted and fake. “Well, you can tell Stan that your asthma isn’t the kind that you can play with. It’s very strong, and dangerous, and that he shouldn’t pretend to be a doctor when he has no idea what he’s talking about.”

Eddie frowned. “But, mama, Stan is real smart.”

“Oh, so you think that I’m an idiot then? If Stan is so smart, have him give you all your fucking medicine,” she spat, stabbing at her food harshly, sending bits of it flying across the table.

Flinching, Eddie shook his head. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Clearly, you don’t even trust your own mother to take care of you! Why don’t Stan’s parents just adopt you, see how well you do over there! They’ll forget which pills are which and forget what you’re allergic to and they’ll send you straight to your death!” she yelled, standing from her chair, hands slamming on the table. “I know you better than anyone else, Eddie! If you want to be healthy, you need me! Not Stan or anyone else! Me! Do you understand?”

Tears pricking the corners of his brown eyes, Eddie nodded. “Yes, mommy. I understand. I’m sorry.”

Her anger instantly deflated, and she walked around to his chair and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug. “I’m sorry for yelling, Eddie-bear. You know how worried you make me.”

“It’s okay, mommy.”

He hugged her back, but tears still trailed down his face. He hadn’t meant to upset her, really. He just didn’t understand.

And, how could he? How do you teach a child that their own mother was against them? How do you explain to them that she was doing something very, very bad?

In his young, naive mind, Eddie Kaspbrak believed that his mother wanted what was best for him. Even though Stan, and Bill, and even Richie, who was rarely serious about anything, claimed that she was crazy, he wouldn’t believe them.

How do you tell a child that their mother is slowly killing them?

***

At thirteen, Eddie was shorter than all of his friends, even Beverly, although those stupid combat boots she always wore gave her an unfair advantage, he claimed, and he weighed about eighty pounds soaking wet.

Mike once was helping Eddie climb down the rickety clubhouse ladder, and managed to pick the other boy up with barely any effort.

“How cute,” Richie had cooed, pinching his cheek, and Eddie had kicked him quite hard in the thigh.

Bev stuck a cigarette between her teeth, but didn’t light it. “Eddie, is it cool if I light this in here? I don’t want the smoke to bother you.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Richie smokes in here all the time,” then, with a pointed glare, “Without even asking, and it doesn’t do anything.”

Richie grinned innocently at him, earning him another kick, this time to his stomach, however, since the two of them were curled up in the hammock, it wasn’t too cruel.

“My cousin has asthma, and my aunt had to quit smoking because of it,” Ben piped up, taping up a poster for  _ The Cure _ on the wall. “Just the smell of it would set her off.”

“Maybe I’m just used to it,” Eddie replied with a shrug. He knew how the other losers feel about his health, and the bit of skepticism mixed within their caring. He also knew that they were probably right. He was old enough now to see that his mother was nothing short of neurotic, and on the rare occasion that he’d been allowed to spend an evening with Bill or Richie’s parents, that fact has become even more clear.

But he also knew that there was nothing he could do about it.


	3. baby i'll give you something / i’'ll shut your eyes to this mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> eddie begins to catch on, and turns to his best friend for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait for the final chapter!! i apologize if this feels a little rushed; i wanted to finish the story up in just three chapters, b/c i'm weird about numbers and would have been super unsatisfied leaving this fic at 4 chapters, but didn't feel like i could stretch it enough for 5.
> 
> anyway, i hope you guys enjoy!!

It wasn’t until Eddie turned fifteen that he started to realize how sick his mother was.

His friends all had very different home lives—Bev never spoke of her father in any positive way, which was enough for them all to understand her reasons (well, that, and the bruises). Ben’s mom was a single mother, who loved him more than life itself, but she couldn’t always find the right ways to show it, so she spoiled him with ice cream for dessert and worked too much to notice much else. Bill’s parents had been much kinder and brighter once upon a time, but since the loss of their youngest son, they had grown distant. Mike’s parents were busy, but always found time to make sure their son knew how loved he was. Stan’s parents were a little uptight, but adored Stan, despite babying him just a bit. And Richie’s dad worked a lot, but always found time to laugh at one of his jokes, or ruffle his hair, or give him a dollar for some chores, but his mother wasn’t very motherly towards him at all.

No matter how fucked up their own home lives were, each of the losers had given their two cents on Eddie’s mom, and the census was that they all preferred their crazy parent or parents to his.

“She’s overprotective, but she’s not evil,” Eddie had defended once.

Richie had snorted. “That’s not overprotective, Eds. That’s keeping you under lock and key.”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Bu-but you have to be home by five,” Bill pointed out. “And if you aren’t sh-she’ll call the cops by 5:05.”

“You’re a teenager, not a baby,” Stan added.

At first, he’d wanted to tell them all how wrong they were. It wasn’t their place to talk about his mother like that, and they would never understand her reasons, anyway.

But did Eddie understand her? No, not really. He knew his father was dead, and that losing him had seemingly traumatized her. And he knew that he was sickly, although perhaps not as sick as she always told him. His asthma hadn’t acted up in weeks, although she insisted it was severe, and that the pollen should be making it worse. And yet, he could laugh and run and play with his friends easily, breathing steadily and inhaling all the goddamn pollen he wanted without the slightest ache in his lungs.

Overprotective, but not evil.

He was fourteen when he went snooping around for the thermometer, having felt warm and sickly all morning after a particularly big dinner the night before, and had found the cabinet to be full of pills and pills and pills, some with the labels peeled and scratched off, some poured into different, labelless containers, some small and colorless while some were big and blue, and behind the row of pills was window cleaner. Several bottles of it, in fact, some still unopened. They were labelless, too, but Eddie recognized the fluid in them from when he’d used it to help clean just a few days ago.

The sight of the cabinet, full of strange things that he struggled to rationalize, made his stomach churn. He slammed the door shut, and promptly vomited into the toilet.

Vomit had a particular, obviously unpleasant taste, but Eddie couldn’t help the thought that popped into his head: Beneath the stomach acid, it tasted like the chemicals under the sink smelled.

Surely, he was just sick, and not in his right mind.

“Eddie, dear, are you okay?”

His head shot up, dizzying him a bit, and he called through the door, “Fine, Ma!” The doorknob twitched, and he quickly yelled at her not to come in; he didn’t want her to know that he was sick. He was supposed to see his friends again the next day, and he didn’t want to bail on them, especially after insisting that his mother wasn’t crazy. It would make him look pretty stupid if after all that defending, she kept him locked up in the house for the next week.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she was standing in the hallway. “Are you alright? Were you sick?”

“No, Mama. I was just washing up.”

She eyed him suspiciously, moving to put a hand on his forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Instinctively, he flinched away. “I’m fine!”

His boldness startled her back, her hand faltering and returning to her side.

_ Please don’t start crying, _ Eddie thought.  _ Please. _

She didn’t. Instead, she brought her hand back up and slapped him.

He stumbled backward, clutching his stinging cheek.

“Don’t talk to me like that!” she yelled, the lost-puppy look she usually wore in her eyes replaced with what could only be described as rage. “I am your mother! I’m just trying to protect you! Every day I worry and slave and all I get in return is your attitude! You are such an ungrateful little shit! I make myself sick with worry every goddamn day over you, and I get nothing in return!”

“You make yourself sick?” Eddie snapped back before he could think to do otherwise. “What about making  _ me  _ sick, Ma?”

Her blotchy face screwed up in something like shock, or indignation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m not sick,” he said. “I haven’t had an asthma attack in months. I only throw up when I eat things that you cook me. I run faster than all my friends and never get hurt or ill. It seems the only time I’m unhealthy is in this house. How do you explain that, Ma?”

She looked so angry then, Eddie almost thought she was going to wring his neck with her large hands, but instead, her expression softened entirely.

“Eddie-bear, you’re being silly. Nausea is an entirely normal side effect of your medication, didn’t the pharmacist tell you that? You know that I would never hurt you.”

She reached out to stroke his cheek, and he let her, although his skin crawled beneath her touch.

“I love you, Eddie-bear.”

“I love you too, Mommy.”

But later that night, he stuffed his backpack with his inhaler, an extra change of socks and underwear, and comic book, and then snuck down the stairs, riding his bike off to Richie’s house, because it was his first instinct.

His mother had always been a very heavy sleeper, but he had never dared to sneak out before.

Maggie Tozier opened the door in a bathrobe, looking incredibly confused and annoyed at Eddie’s arrival, but he spit out some white lie that his mother was leaving town for a family emergency and wanted him to stay the night, and she agreed.

Richie was surprised to see him, but happy, too.

“What the hell are you doin’ here, Eds?” he’d asked, a goofy grin stretched across his face.

“Richie, language!”   
“Sorry!”

Gesturing for Eddie to follow him up the stairs, Richie took off, two steps at a time. Eddie followed, his heart feeling a little bit lighter to be with him.

“So, what’s up with your aunt?”

“Nothing,” Eddie replied. “It was a lie. I...I ran away.”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, right.”

Eddie just looked at him, silently.

And then, Richie went quiet too ( _ for once _ , Eddie thought) before furrowing his brows. “Really?”

Eddie nodded, flopping down on Richie’s bed like it was his own, kicking off his white sneakers and staring up at the ceiling. “I think my mom is making me sick,” he said, almost casually. “So I left. To be honest, I was kind of scared she was gonna kill me in my sleep.” He gave a humorless, nervous chuckle.

Richie walked over and sat beside him. “Jesus fuck, Eds. And you came to me for help?”

“Of course I did. You’re my best friend,” Eddie replied seriously, putting a hand on Richie’s arm.

He didn’t notice the way his friend blushed, his mind too wrapped up with other things. “You guys were right. My mom isn’t right.”

“Is this a bad time to say ‘I told you so’?” Richie asked.

Eddie glared.

“Sorry, sorry! How do you know she’s making you sick?”

“I was snooping around for the thermometer and I found this cabinet she had full of random pills and...and window cleaner, in labelless bottles, stocked full like it was a pantry. I know it sounds crazy, but I was flipping channels on the T.V. the other day, and they were showing this documentary about parents who kill their kids, and they said that mothers poison their kids to make ‘em sick for attention—”

“Woah, Eds, slow down. You think she’s poisoning you?” Richie asked, moving to lay down beside him on his belly, his expression still riddled with confusion, and worry, too.

“Yes. They called it something weird, like mocassins disorder, or something. Moms killing their kids in slow, hard-to-notice ways so that they get sympathy for having a sick kid. Do you remember when she took me to Disney World back in elementary school? She told every single worker I was sick, so we’d get to cut the lines. And when I was little, her cooking used to make me throw up all the time. It stopped after a while, but now, sometimes if I eat dinner here when we have sleepovers, but when I go back home and eat her food again, it makes me feel really sick.”

“You sure she isn’t just a shitty cook and a pushover?” Richie asked.

Eddie nibbled the inside of his cheek. “Maybe, but I don’t really want to take that risk.”

Richie propped himself up on his elbows. “Alright then. So, what’s the plan?”

***

Before Sonia Kaspbrak could get ahold of the police, Eddie was already coming back inside. He’d left Richie’s bright and early.

“Oh, Eddie-bear! Where have you been? Are you okay, are you hurt?” she cried, running towards him before he’d even got fully through the door.

“I’m great, Ma. I’m really great,” he told her, smiling. “Wanna know why?”

Her face contorted in confusion. “Why?”

“Because I haven’t eaten anything you’ve cooked. I haven’t taken my meds. And I’ve been around my friends, not you.”

As if on cue, tears welled in her eyes.   
“Don’t cry. You’re not going to guilt me into shutting up this time. No more meds, no more freaky poison food, and I go out with my friends when I want. And then, I won’t tell the police, and I won’t tell the town that you’re a psycho bitch, and I won’t talk back. Deal?”

Sonia Kaspbrak was so surprised, she couldn’t respond, tears running down her cheeks.

Eddie smirked. “I’ll take that as a deal. I’m going to Richie’s. See ya, Ma.”

Things weren’t going to be perfect. Hell, they probably wouldn’t even be good. He was a fifteen-year-old kid who was going to have to learn to cook himself dinner, and would probably be terrified to sleep in his own house until he was eighteen and off to college. He would spend nights curling up next to Richie in his bed, fighting the urge to take a puff of his inhaler as his chest grew tight with anxiety, and Richie rubbed his back and stroked his hair.

It wasn’t perfect, but he felt as though he’d saved himself, if not forever, it would be enough to buy himself time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed, thank you for reading!! feedback is very appreciated. xoxo

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! feedback is highly appreciated in the form of kudos or comments!! xo


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